A Final Hope
by UniqueByDesign
Summary: The final battle, how it should have ended. Potential Two-Shot. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

Every muscle in her body ached, contracting angrily, painfully. There wasn't a spot on her that wasn't cut or bruised. Her bloodied, cramping fingers that clutched her gun like a lifeline, hurt. Her eyes burned with pent-up tears, in hatred and anger for the little kid standing a few feet in front of her.

His body seemed to be made of light, rays and rays of pure white light, arranged in the form of a human child. The child she'd met on Earth, the one that'd haunted her nightmares.

The whole glowing thing was off-putting to say the least, but it was his eyes that put her most on edge. The way he looked at her, spewing his bullshit about order and stopping chaos and _choices,_ choices only she could make.

_Because I'm Commander fucking Shepard._ She thought ruefully, fist clenching despite the already constant pain.

The godchild, the _catalyst,_ continued to speak, and she tried to listen, but every single word that came out of the little pisspot's mouth just screamed at her one word.

_Wrong._

"You must choose." His words wafted over her, sending another wave of anger down her spine, so potent that for a brief second she forgot all about the pain and just stared at him, hoping all of her hatred and loathing was palpable in her eyes.

He stared right back, eerie luminous gaze unwavering, until Shepard opened her mouth, her voice rasping out.

"There's something you're not telling me." She said, scrutinizing the godchild. "There is another option."

_There has to be._

Had she been without the implants, courtesy of Cerberus, she'd have missed it. Anyone would have missed it.

But she didn't.

The pause was infinitesimal, and to anyone else, wouldn't have registered, but she knew. That pause said it all.

Her bloody lips split in a wide grin that stretched her face in a gruesome display of teeth. She laughed, and it came out as a pained wheeze.

"You…little shit…." She said between fits of laughter. She bent over slightly, one arm cradling her torso while the other shook as she chuckled, gun still grasped tightly in her hand. "You son….of a bitch." Her wheezing dissolved into coughs, but that did nothing to quell her good mood.

The godchild stuttered, actually stuttered. "T-there are no other choices-"

"You almost got me." She said, shaking her head slowly, and the hand that held her gun twitched. She brought it up to the godchild and pulled the trigger. "Almost."

The bullet whizzed through him, but there was a little tear, a hole, in his glowing body left by her bullet. His body shimmered in a series of ripple effects that had to be painful, considering that shocked, open-mouthed, incredulous look on his face.

"Hmm" She tilted her head, grin turning into a gruesome grimace. "Not so immortal after all."

The godchild's face contorted, mouth splitting unnaturally wide open, jaw unhinging, eyes glowing red. Out of his mouth—if she could call it that anymore—came the unmistakable sound of a Reaper, it's ear-splitting shriek filling the air, shattering her eardrums instantly.

She stumbled back, uncaring that she slammed into an ambiguous, unforgiving surface. The floor? The wall? Who gave a shit anymore. It's not like anyone was there to catch her fall, to watch her six.

Her molars ground down on each other, hard. _Suck it up Jane._

Her grip on her gun didn't falter, didn't waver. She looked around wildly, found the little shit, and pulled the trigger again. While he recoiled at the direct hit, she dove behind cover, taking a deep breath as her body took over. The tension left her shoulders as she slid back into her usual routine. It was easy; methodical, automatic.

Squeeze off a few rounds, breathe, reload. Squeeze off more rounds, breathe, reload. Roll, move, shoot, breathe, reload. Over, and over and over and over, just like Garrus had told her, way back when.

She remembered it with startling clarity, it'd been after some mission, she'd been at the Battery, poised on top of some crates, and they'd been talking about their respective fighting styles.

"_You still barrel through enemies like a tank." He said, talons moving over his sniper rifle delicately as it lay in pieces on the floor. He picked up a piece, and began cleaning it with practiced ease._

_She rolled her eyes, still-scarred face tingling slightly as she smiled. "So? You know me, I take the direct approach."_

_His cobalt blue gaze met her green one for a moment. "Trust me, I know." His mandibles shifted in a Turian smile. "Subtly isn't your strong point."_

_Her grin widened. She wasn't blushing, she told herself firmly. The room's just warm because… the guns need to be in a controlled climate. That's all._

"_It still gets the job done."_

"_Hm." He muttered, not looking up. She could still see the smirk on his face._

"_So how do you describe your fighting style Garrus?" She stretched out on the crates as much as she was able. "I'm curious."_

_His chest rose briefly in a half-laugh. "Well, you know me. I'm all about repetition, about patterns."_

"_Explain."_

"_I find my target in my scope, breathe in, pull the trigger, breathe out, and reload. Over and over and over, until they're no more targets." He looked up eyes raking over her as he appraised her silently. "You could do the same thing, instead of barreling through your enemies like a human tank."_

_She raised an eyebrow, opening her eyes she hadn't realized were closed. "Sharing your secrets Garrus?"_

_His tone deepened. "I don't mind helping a friend out, giving her some pointers." He shrugged. "You won't get as good as me, but it'll be cute to see you try."_

Back when she'd been more human, more humane. Before the ruthless calculus of war and the rising body count and the number of home worlds burning and the billions of people whose lives were riding on her. Before she killed her friends because they stood on opposing sides and before she became this giant intergalactic symbol of hope. Before she was a big goddamn hero.

She took a breath and reloaded.

She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, rolling to cover as the little pisspot tried to blast her body into smithereens.

Before, when she'd been Jane.

The pain in her chest was blinding her, making it harder to move, to think. She forced another breath in and got out of cover, showering the godchild in a barrage of bullets.

A one-woman army, a final stand, a final ray of hope.

She rolled again, gritting her teeth as a jagged piece of metal pierced her in the shin. Her armor was dented and worn, charred black in some places. Her shields were long gone.

She pointed at the godchild, noting with grim satisfaction that he seemed to be weakening. His grotesque, distorted, glowing body was dimming.

_Nice to know he's not immortal._ She thought with a grin as she kept shooting, pausing only to reload and breathe.

The little shit seemed to condense, it's unholy light collapsing in on itself, building and building, until it was no more than the size of her hand, dense and compact.

And then it exploded.

Great waves of light, of energy, flooded her senses, throwing her body like a ragdoll across the room, slamming her into something hard, making her already spotted vision blur.

Breathing was impossible as the waves continued to crash over her, _into_ her. She fought to keep her eyes open, but they wouldn't listen to her, and fluttered shut.

She dimly registered that the waves had stopped, only to feel the hauntingly familiar feeling of falling, being pulled towards the surface of a planet whose gravity refused to let you go.

She knew she had seconds, if that much, and she couldn't help but want to smile. Just like Alchera, just like before.

But things were different now.

Her mind conjured pictures, faded blurred images of her crew, her friends, the people that were still living, still fighting. And those that were lost. One face stood out above them all.

Blue face paint, scarred face, blue visor, piercing, cobalt-blue eyes; frightening in their intensity.

"_Maybe we can see what a Turian-Human baby looks like."_

_Hope, pure, unadulterated hope, slammed into her with all the finesse of a Krogan. "I'm game, but biology might not cooperate."_

Her mind flew forward, to when they stood just feet apart, his bloodied form barely standing on the platform of the Normandy.

_Her mouth worked, forcing out the words she knew she had to say. She had to tell him. He had to know._

"_No matter what happens here… I love you. I always will."_

_His mandibles drew in tight against his face, body taught, eyes blazing. He gripped the hand that she'd raised to stroke his scarred face, talons curled around her fingers so tightly she knew he'd left a bruise._

"_Shepard…" His voice was the deepest she'd ever heard it, thick with dual-toned emotion. "Jane." She watched as he spoke through the lump in his throat, fighting through the emotions that threatened to pull them both under. "I…love you too."_

She felt her body smash onto a pile of rubble, felt every nerve scream in agony. A scream she knew she echoed, if she'd been able to hear.

She couldn't see the sky, couldn't see the stars. She couldn't even see if another piece of debris was about to come crashing onto her body.

All she could see was beautiful cobalt blue, before white started to creep in at the edges. Her body felt weightless, like she was floating in zero gravity, above the white glacial planet that was Alchera. The white crept over the blue, expanding and growing and consuming everything.

Then she felt nothing at all.

**A/N: So, this is my first story, I'd appreciate any & all reviews, I wanna know if there's anything I need to change, & if I should make this a 2-shot. Originally I was going to, but if it's better as-is, then I'm not gonna mess with it. Thanks for Reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

He remembered where he was when she died the first time.

He was sitting at his desk at C-sec, gathering information on a potential sting operation, when his superior walked over to his desk.

_"Vakarian, you have a visitor." _

_His talons paused on the consol, and he looked up at the considerably older Turian male with barely concealed excitement. She was here. _

_He fell in line behind his superior, going through all the times they'd talked to each other since she left to return to the Normandy and he'd stayed behind. They'd exchanged emails since her departure, and she told him that as soon as she finished up some routine missions, she'd come back to the Citadel for a few days. She left it up to him to plan their activities when she'd arrive._

_And he had plans. Lunch in the Presidium Commons, a night at Purgatory, taking her by his apartment, just so she could see what a Turian bed looked like, and feel ashamed for making him sleep on that glorified cot she called a bed._

_Plans. They had plans, and he knew Shepard—no, Jane—long enough to know that she was gonna be there. She wasn't going to let him dow—_

_"Anderson?" Garrus stopped, nearly bumping into his superior officer. "What are you—"_

_Anderson looked pointedly at Garrus' superior. "Give us a minute."_

_"Sure thing." He nodded, and started walking back, only to stop by Garrus hesitantly. He didn't meet his eyes. "Take the rest of the day off, Vakarian."_

_Thoroughly confused, Garrus nodded. "Thank you, sir."_

_Garrus' gaze swung to Anderson's, and for the first time he got a good look at his face. The brown-skinned human had considerably darker circles beneath his brown eyes. Garrus had been around humans long enough to know that that was a sign of fatigue. But he didn't know why his eyes were red-rimmed. Maybe he was sick?_

_The human male seemed…older, than the last they'd met. There were the tell-tale creases in his skin along the sides of his mouth and forehead._

_Garrus would've deemed his observations inconclusive, had it not been for the way Anderson opened his mouth one moment, only to close it the next. He wasn't speaking, no words were coming out. Just, open and close. Open and close._

_Open and close._

_Unable to take it, Garrus ground out, a little harsher than he'd meant to, "Is something wrong sir?"_

_Garrus watched as the little ball on the human's neck bobbed as he swallowed. "She's gone."_

_He was naive, and for a long moment, didn't know who the hell 'she' was. It couldn't have been Shepard—no, Jane—she was, well Commander Jane Shepard. She saves lives, thousands of lives, rescues people, and protects innocents. She's the first human Spectre, and, spirits damn him, she's his hero._

_She doesn't just die, especially not on a routine mission._

_"Wha—"_

_"The Normandy was attacked by an unmarked, superior vessel. She was spaced trying to get her crew out safely." The human noticed that the Turian's body began to shake, nothing too noticeable, just a little trembling along his arms. But for a notorious predator species, it spoke volumes. His mandibles were pulled in so tight against his face he feared they were going to snap off. And then there was the growling, the deep dual-toned rumble that made you want to take two steps back._

_Anderson took two steps forward._

_"I'm sorry, Garrus."_

_The Turian was beyond listening, beyond speaking. He simply turned on his heel and walked away, past his C-sec office towards his apartment._

It was there that he allowed himself to fall apart.

* * *

Humans always put so much stress on 'firsts'. First impressions, first kisses, first dates. Garrus never understood why, maybe it had something to do with their memory? Who knows. All he knew was that the second time, it was infinitely worse. The first time they'd been friends only; their relationship had yet to build, to grow. The first time, he'd only lost a best friend.

The second time he lost more than a best friend, more than a Commander, a leader. He lost his partner, the only person in the entire fucked-up galaxy that he could ever, would ever; spend the rest of his life with. She was the one thing he did right.

And she was gone.

* * *

He was the one that dragged her out of the rubble. Her body was covered, from head to toe, in her red, alien blood. Some places were darker in color, looking almost burgundy, while others were a lighter, vibrant, scarlet red.

Her bones were broken, her legs, her arms, were contorted at unnatural angles. Her armor was scorched and dented, covered in soot and ash.

Vega was by his side when he pulled her out. Vega was the one that called for help. Garrus couldn't remember how to use his voice, let alone speak. He was throwing all his energy into looking at the readouts from his visor.

No heart rate.

No respiratory rate.

No brain activity.

Estimated time of death: two days, ten hours and thirteen minutes ago.

His cobalt gaze shifted to the woman cradled in his arms. He'd seen her beat-up, seen her broken, bruised, cut, burned. He's seen it all, and every time he'd been sure that she was going to be alright. Yeah, he was worried, but he knew she'd pull through. She always did, because she always had something to fight for.

But not this time. The Reapers were gone, thanks to her. She didn't have to fight anymore.

It was over.

Her mangled body didn't bother him much, sure, it made him cringe a little, but it was her eyes that really put him through the ringer.

Her emerald green eyes were open, staring off at nothing, pupils dilated in death. Her eyes always made him lose track of time and space. But seeing them opaque, seeing the green getting swallowed by the darkness of her pupils made him feel like he was getting sucked in too. And he was, he could _feel_ it. A part of him, the part that belonged to her, began to slip away from him, sifting through his fingers like black, flaking ash.

His breathing hitched, his torso shook. He searched her gaze, trying to hold onto something, trying to hold onto himself.

No matter how hard he stared, how softly he ran a talon down one bloody cheek, she wouldn't look at him. He feared she never would again.

"Jane?" He whispered, pulling her closer to his warm body. When had he gotten onto his knees? "Jane, I know you hear me. You don't have to say anything, just listen okay?" He could hear footsteps approaching. That helped him some, made it easier to speak to her, and made him think she really could hear him.

"I need you to hold on just a little longer." He brought his head down to hers softly, breathing in her scent. She still smelled the same, she didn't smell like death.

_Not yet._

"Don't get too comfy at that bar, because I plan on bringing you back." His swallowed past the lump in his throat, forcing himself to continue. "And really, who wants to stay at a bar all alone, when their sexy Turian is waiting for them to come back home?" A droplet of clear liquid fell onto her cheek. Garrus' vision began to swim. "_Please_ Jane, I—"

"Garrus." It was Chawkus, coming to kneel by his side. "Move over." She said, her voice carrying the weight of her medical authority. She ran a scanner over Jane's body, and a shadow passed over her features. She looked up at him, opened her mouth to speak. He knew what she was going to say, he could see it in her eyes.

"Call Miranda." He said, dropping his gaze back down to Shepard. "She'll know what to do."

"Garrus—"

"_Call her._" He said, grip tightening slightly on Shepard. He loosened his grip immediately. "She saved her life once, she'll do it again."

The older woman sighed. "Garrus it could takes _weeks_ for her to come, and—"

His tone was cold. "Then you better stop wasting time."

He felt her give in, could physically feel the fight going out of her. _Good._ He slowly stood up and made his way back to the Normandy a few hundred feet away. He felt a hard clap on his shoulder, and knew who it was without turning his head.

"You did it, Scars." Vega said, a smile breaking out over his face for the first time since the war ended just days ago.

Unable to respond, Garrus nodded jerkily, blinking away what he refused to call tears.

* * *

Her Australian accent triggered a wave of nostalgia in Garrus so strong he looked up to the speaker. He nodded silently, remaining at Shepard's side.

He'd remained by her side as she lay on top of a gurney in a room programmed to prevent her body from decaying. For three days he sat with her, holding her hand in his much larger claws. He was speaking to her nonstop, like some Turian radio station. Half the time he didn't know what the hell he was saying. At this point he was just babbling, rambling, telling her everything and then nothing at all.

He told her about his mom, how much she'd have liked her. He told her about his home on Palaven, the house he lived in, his times in the Turian military, how he got a lot of the scars on his body. He told her about his sister Solana, about how they used to drive each other absolutely insane. He talked about his dad some, how he didn't resent him anymore and how he sent him an email after the war had ended, asking if he was okay.

He told her about Omega, the nitty-gritty, ugly parts of that place he hoped she'd never have to see. He told her about his squad, going in depth though it hurt to do so. He just didn't want to stop talking, didn't want to give in to the silence.

The silence seemed to speak louder than he was able to stand, screaming the truth he was unable to accept.

He asked her questions about herself. Even though she wouldn't—_couldn't_—answer, he still asked. He was asking her about her parents when Miranda arrived. She hadn't changed at all.

She arrived with a crew of medical experts, all seeming to be more than ready to revive the renowned Commander Shepard.

Her blue eyes met his, and she gave him one of her rare, genuine smiles.

"Well done Garrus." She said softly. "Now I'm gonna have to ask you to wait outside. I'm going to need this area clear."

Garrus touched foreheads with Shepard, and reluctantly stood, making his way to the door. He threw Miranda one final look, communicating on a level that transcends vocal.

_Can you do this?_

The look she gave him removed all of his doubts.

_I wouldn't be here if I couldn't._

_**A/N: So, by two-shot, I meant three-shot. This little story's almost done! Please review, send me a PM, whatever, helpful criticism is both needed & appreciated. If you loved it, hated it, or if it just felt 'eehh', let me know! I hope no one's OOC. Thanks for everyone who commented, faved, and followed my story, and thanks for taking the time to read!**  
_


	3. Chapter 3

**In hindsight, I should've added a disclaimer earlier, but better late than never right? I don't own Mass Effect (sadly, or I'd be rich). By the way, Garrus' thoughts are bolded, just in case I didn't make it clear enough. Happy Reading!**

* * *

He remembered what it was like when she came back the first time.

_He was a dead man. Heartless, hollow, he lived only because his body refused to quit. He lived for the next kill, for the next opportunity to atone for his failures. He screwed up, irrevocably, he knew that. Ten lives, ten good fighters, gone by his stupidity. He had to make amends. _

_Somehow._

_He pulled the trigger._

**_Scratch one._**

_It didn't make the pain any easier to bear, didn't help the burning in his chest subside. He didn't feel the old spark, the little warm feeling that would burn in his gut whenever he felt that he was making a difference, that he was using his skills to save innocent lives. No, now it was just mechanical, monotonous, and clinical._

_He pulled the trigger._

**_Scratch one._**

_He didn't shoot to save his life; he knew damn well he was going to die here, in this pisshole, alone. He deserved that much, for all the times he's screwed up. What did Joker call it? Paying the piper?_

_He found another merc in his scope. Pulled the trigger._

**_Scratch one._**

_He didn't think, didn't let his mind wander. He knew his thoughts would drift back to her, and that was somewhere he couldn't afford to go. Thinking of her made his whole body tremble in shame. He could see her shaking her head, red fringe swaying slightly as she did so. He could see her green eyes filled with pity, disappointment, disgust._

_And to think at one point, he'd thought himself to be her protégé._

**_Not now, not anymore, not ever._**

_Another merc hid behind a concrete pillar. Garrus sighed. Too easy. He adjusted his scope and pulled the trigger._

_It was a headshot. He didn't watch as the body fell to the ground._

_He was already moving his scope onto another band of mercs moving in; triplets._

_But they were moving in a way that was somehow familiar. There was one, feminine in build, poised in the center. She motioned with a jerk of her head, and the other two moved into position. He couldn't see her face; she had a helmet covering her head._

_But something about her screamed at him, she was familiar, her body language, her combat style. Something—_

_Without his control, his trigger finger jumped, spasmed, and he pulled the trigger. _

**_No!_**

_The shot was off, pinging off of her shield, causing it to ripple around her. Relief washed over him so strongly his knees trembled. He didn't want to shoot her; it was a selfish desire. One he was helpless to fight._

_His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on her. There it was, that sensation again, but it was stronger this time. Who was she—_

_In one fluid move, she turned on her armor plated boot around to a random mec, and pulled the trigger at point blank range._

**_Oh Spirits._**

_His instinct took control then, picking off anyone that tried to take a shot at her, his heart rate climbing as she got closer and closer to his location._

_He killed one last mec. His visor was silent, clear, no threats in the immediate area._

_Her footsteps thundered up the steps, matching the angry pounding of his heart. For some tense seconds, it was all he could hear. Until her voice filtered through the air, music to his ears._

_"Archangel?"_

* * *

"Garrus?"

His head snapped up immediately, eyes searching, then finding. A cobalt blue gaze met emerald green.

Her face was still peppered with bruises, and there were a few bandages, but her eyes were alive, and positively glowing. They reached for each other simultaneously, finding purchase on the other's cheek/mandible. Their eyes both roamed each other's faces, memorizing.

They brought their heads together at the same time, foreheads touching in an age-old Turian gesture of love, reserved only for bondmates. She knew the implications, as did he. Neither of them voiced any complaint.

It was a long time before he found his voice, and when he spoke it was thickly dual-toned.

"Jane." He swallowed, talons caressing the back of her head gently, mindful of her bandages. He tried to make his mouth work, tried to tell her all of the things that were trapped inside him. He needed to tell her so much, but the words all fought for escape. "I-I—" He stopped, swallowed.

_Start off slow Vakarian, baby steps._

"Welcome back." He said, body relaxing at the smile that softened her features. Tears gathered in her eyes. He swallowed, and said meekly, "Thanks for coming back." He coughed, choking on his—_damn_—tears. "For fighting—"

Her arms slid around his neck, bringing their foreheads even closer together. She kissed his mandible, and Garrus felt a tear slide down her cheek. "Thank _you,_" Her arms gripped him tighter. "For giving me something to fight for."

* * *

**Five Years Later**

"Fuck."

"That's what got us here in the first place."

"Shut up. This is all your fault!"

"If I recall correctly,_ you_ were the one who waltzed into our bedroom with that blue nightgown on—"

"I was getting ready for bed."

"Oh, so you usually sleep in a silk dress with the fabric cut-out over the hips? Good to know."

"You didn't have to jump me."

"No, but last time I checked, I possessed a quad. So I did."

"Shut up and focus on the road."

"Some of us are gifted at multi-tasking. Aren't you supposed to be pushing or something?"

Something went flying past Garrus' head, bouncing off the dashboard. He barely ducked in time.

"Guess not."

"You didn't do your fucking research did you?!"

"Have you seen the vids Joker sent me? They were disgusting. "

"Pansy."

"What?"

"Just fucking drive!"

"Fuck."

"What?"

"Traffic."

"You're kidding right? Put your C-sec lights on and let's go!"

"…Shit. They're at Liara's."

"Are you shitting me right now? Fuck this, I'm driving—"

"No! I actually care about my life. Just—_damnit _Jane—wait a goddamn minute- fuck, fine! I'm going I'm going." He turned off of the road, breaking more than a handful of traffic laws in the process, and continued on to the hospital.

Shepard sat back down, hands going to her swollen belly as another contraction blindsided her with all the finesse of a charging Krogan.

"Fuck."

Garrus laughed. "You beat the Reapers, remember? Shouldn't childbirth be a piece of pie?"

"Cake! Cake you dipshit. And when I get outta this car I'm gonna punch you in the throat."

"Do some of your deep breathing exercises. What did that lady say? 'Childbirth is the labor of love.'"

Angry green eyes met ones Cobalt blue in the rearview mirror. Shepard leaned back, choking out a laugh.

"Love, huh?"

"Yeah."

She couldn't stop her mouth from twitching up in a smile. "Hmph."

**Well, that's it guys! Thank you so much for sticking around, for following, favoriting and reviewing the story! How'd I do? I'd really like to know! Please review, even if you have before, or not, I really appreciate it. Its how fanfiction writers get paid. Thanks for reading.**


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